Vermillion

Meredith Davern

Vermillion

Twisted and mangled, the body at the bottom of the stairs had no hope. She was gone. Dressed up and ready for a night out, but she is left to die. The only word to ever be heard is the shrill scream of the name “Vince!” 

Long slender legs carry her beautifully curved torso brought together with a shapely- but not over bearing- frame. A small neck plastered onto a petite figure with high cheek bones and cat-like blue eyes. Her eyes and ravenous red hair that shine in the light and peach skin so soft it looks like if you took a bite it would be sweet and full of juice.  A body of such creation covered in blotchy purple spaces and scabs. The red color of her hair brings out her bloodshot eyes. Arms and the spaces between her toes are tainted with needle marks. Picking and prying marks lie all over her face from nights of fiending and withdrawal. The glow that used to be alive is replaced with yellow, pale, jaundice skin. The shine in her hair and eyes is gone. She has turned hollow.

 Though she still returns, the woman beaten by all who love her is not a woman at all. She acts like a child. When she is high life is great. The thrill of toxins running through her veins is the only thrill that keeps her alive.   

The bruises are always just accidents.  “Oh, I fell…”

“He doesn’t mean it! He doesn’t mean it! It was my fault!” The lies she spit sting like venom. She knows that she is lying, and I know she is lying to me. Why do we pretend any differently? Why can’t she just leave him? Why can’t she put down the needles? Why do I still try to save her?  

An illusion of her former self; she tries to pick her life back up, but they always come back. The lure of love and dopamine are too much, and her will power is never strong enough. She crawls back every time, and hates herself for it. A beautiful body ruined with scars from self mutilation, and a life of abuse.  

She used to console me. She used to be there for me. She used to be better. The night she came home forever is a night that I’ll never forget. Everything started off like any normal Friday night. People heading out and getting messed up, old factories are transformed to clubs by speakers and lights. Buildings ready to fall apart with rust covering every available space, and you feel dirty just touching the walls.  The clubs were tweakers hang out and dance for hours and hours, and there are so many drugs on the dance floor no one knows exactly what they are getting. All the clubs were piling up with people, and one of them was my red head beauty. Her eyes full and pupils dilated taking in every bit of light that crosses the dance floor. Playing with the shadows on the wall and being scared of the ghosts hidden only behind her thoughts. Bouncing light and dancing shadows played tricks on her eyes. Her nose began to bleed, and the intense feeling of paranoia filled her instantly like light in a dark room. She began running throughout the club, screaming for help, but there was no one following her. She found a set of stairs and ran until she made it to the roof; where she took her last “fall”.    

Why did I have to treat her like nothing? Why did I have to beat her? Why did I show her the drugs? How could I have killed the only beautiful woman to ever say my name?